Christingle

blooded in these ways your flute silk awn

your capitulum hinge and parse

in the fairy lut room my baby that’s that

pervasive the fire’s on

long flame at the aperture and my born boy and girl

wet christingle let lay on ruggy pine

flickers at the cynch and my made boy and girl

forlorn in snowy plaster crystalline blind that ox incense

our lad blooded bare in these times

mute yawn in the hardly shut womb my born on your hot sweet draw

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s